


A Hiss in the Night

by andysmountains



Series: Conspiracy Theories and Cryptids [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: American politicians are lizards, Blow Job, Conspiracy Theories, Declarations Of Love, Frottage, Happy Ending, He also cries just a little, Lizard People, Lizard!John, Love Confessions, M/M, Trans Sherlock, Trusting Sherlock, alien!John, but he is trans so, its not like mentioned, like the ones who run our government, oh yeah and, sherlock has a small penis, smol sherlock, the tags like spoil the entire thing?? i dont care, there is an absurd lack of lizard people in the sherlock fan fiction, this will end happy or i demand you kill me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-04-23 10:57:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4874146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andysmountains/pseuds/andysmountains
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing he noticed was that John, in the corner in front of his dresser and mirror was hunched in an odd way. He had too many angles and seemed to be spilling out of his sweater. It couldn’t be comfortable, the way John held his head, so that not even a hint of it could be seen. There was a soft hissing that filled the room, it seems to come from John’s direction but that made no sense, he didn’t have any alarms or text tones that sounded anything like it, Sherlock had memorized them all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lavendermermaid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lavendermermaid/gifts).



Something’s wrong with John, he’d been distant and snappish at times. The snappishness wasn’t new, not by a long shot; that has always been his way and Sherlock accepted that. But when classic JohnWatson snappishness and ill humor was mixed with a cold distance that Sherlock had let his guard down against when he let his blogger into his home and life, Sherlock began to worry. 

Before this recent upheaval, it had seemed like they were moving, inching at times but glacially trudging towards something greater than they’d ever had before. John’s heated glances had turned into a fire, heating up the space between them. Touches lasted longer than strictly platonic and though he’d always assumed John would be as warm to the touch as his smile was, there’s always been something. Sherlock had found recently that John felt like an ice box most of the time. They’d always complimented each other so well, tall to short, kind to cruel that it only fit that they fit together in body temperature. Contrary to popular opinion, Sherlock was not ice, was not stone and was not cool even with his coat and cheek bones. In fact he had been told and proved that physically at least he ran hotter than the average person.

_Is it because of me?_  

He knew it was irrational and illogical, but that’s what John does to him, what John has always, always done to him. For exactly 3 days, 4 hours, and 49 minutes give or take the time Sherlock was sawing away at Vivaldi’s La Stravaganza John had remained distanced and slightly pissed off, What he could have done to so throughly disinterest John in such a short period of time? 

Sherlock steepled his fingers under his chin, concentrating on the feel of his callus finger tips to calm his rattled nerves. He closed his eyes and began the retreat into the refuge of his mind palace. Facts, facts had always been his closest ally and his best friend(besides John of course) and when John pulled away, to facts he would return.

_Fact 1: John had been standing more than twice his usual distance from Sherlock._

_Fact 2: Before this, whatever it was, if Sherlock’s projections were correct, they were less than 2 weeks away from at least an adrenaline flooded kiss in the stairwell._

_Fact 3: John on multiple occasions had been swayed from anger at a girlfriend by sex with said girlfriend._

_Fact 4: Though Sherlock hated the terminology, he felt that the girl(boy)friend analogy was accurate._

_Plan: Initiate sex with John, sooner rather than later._

 

With at least the rough outline of a plan, Sherlock leapt into action. He stood abruptly and surveyed the flat as it stood, no movement from the kitchen, bathroom or stairs, Sherlock knew that Ms. Hudson had taken her “herbal soother” for the night and wouldn’t be in any state to interrupt them. With an empty kitchen and a still house the only place John could be is in his bedroom, where he’d been spending an increasing amount of time for coincidently 3 days, 4 hours and 57 minutes.Turning a keen ear towards the stairs to John’s room and above, Sherlock heard the tell tale rustling of John getting ready for bed and for his nightly wank. 

Obviously the optimal time for his seduction, clumsy as it would be, would be before John finished, despite his health and fitness, John was not a young man anymore. One go a night is probably as much as can be hoped for, at least this first time. 

Taking a moment to steady himself, Sherlock decided that a tumbler of scotch would if not calm his nerves, then give him the fabled liquid courage that he so desperately needed. With that decision made he moved slowly into the kitchen to retrieve their one good bottle, above the refrigerator pushed behind a dusty pinot that Sherlock had once preferred and a more regularly used Merlot that John broke out every now and then to ease his annoyance at Sherlock’s antics. Carefully he reached to the back, maneuvering so he wouldn’t know into either bottle of wine or give John any reason to descend from his room. 

Wiping out the inside of a faceted glass and quickly pouring a healthy portion of the amber liquid, he swirled the scotch around and hastily swallowed. Unashamed of his nativity to drinking, he successfully managed to keep about half of it out of his lungs, choking up the burning liquor as he coughed intensely. 

“Here goes nothing.”

With the legs of a new born fawn, Sherlock began the shaky treck up John’s stairs, 12 of them, each of them more daunting than the last. When he finally made it to the landing, to John’s locked door, he paused to get his thoughts in order. 

  _How does one go across seducing their best friend? Should he walk in totally nude or maybe with just enough off to be undeniably sexual? What should he say? Anything or just directly to the sex?_

After a few minutes of hapless dithering, he finally decided to walk in with a casual sexuality. He slips his fingers to the button on the inside of his zip and carefully unhooks it, shimming his pants over his slim hips. Fingers wobbling with nervousness and some fear, he painstakingly undid each of the buttons on his shirt until it lay forgotten against his back. Breathing deeply he made the last minute decision not to knock, this couldn’t wait, it couldn’t be held back. This was happening now. With a calm he didn’t feel, Sherlock threw open John’s door and took several steps into the center of the room without even noticing the situation that greeted him. 

The first thing he noticed was that John, in the corner in front of his dresser and mirror was hunched in an odd way. He had too many angles and seemed to be spilling out of his sweater. It couldn’t be comfortable, the way John held his head, so that not even a hint of it could be seen. There was a soft hissing that filled the room, it seems to come from John’s direction but that made no sense, he didn’t have any alarms or text tones that sounded anything like it, Sherlock had memorized them all. 

Slowly John began to turn, more hesitantly than Sherlock has ever seen, and what Sherlock saw ripped a loud gasp from his throat. This thing that turned towards him wasn’t John but it was. It has green scales and a long snout that didn’t even begin to hide sharp teeth from sticking out the sides. Its, his, eyes were dull and grey with a fog covering them, not unlike the snake Sherlock had kept as a pet during his teenage years. Behind that fog, those dark, dull eyes was something of the John Sherlock knew and loved. 

Suddenly the creature began scrambling for something that lay discarded by its feet. When it finally grabbed it, with hands that were undoubtedly John’s, Sherlock saw that it was a rubbery horrible rendition of John’s face. 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock explains why he knows lizard people exist and John explains why he lives with Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Most of this I'm proud of but John is probs 100% ooc. Hope you enjoy this shit show

“Don’t look at me, Sherlock.”

John’s voice was calm and cold, and it reminded Sherlock vaguely of tin cans being shot by a BB gun. It held the hint of command that Sherlock was never able to fully rebuff and he found himself turning away to give this monster-man the privacy he desired. The sounds that came from where not-John was sitting shook Sherlock to his core, squelches and wet noises of the mask being replaced over the scaly face of his best friend filled him with disgust.

After the cacophony had ended, Sherlock could suppress his gruesome curiosity no longer and he spun, expecting to find that he had hallucinated or even been drugged by some long forgotten member of Moriarty’s web. Alas life and chance had never been kind to Sherlock before and this was not to be the day that lady luck shined in his favor and when his eyes found John’s across the room, it was almost like Sherlock hadn’t just seen that he was a lizard disguised as a human. 

As it stood John was sitting, hands braced on knees with knuckles white from the stress he was putting on them, wearing Sherlock’s favorite of his jumpers, the black and white striped one. He was breathing like he’d just run a marathon and couldn’t seem to meet Sherlock’s eyes, not that Sherlock blamed him. 

“So I suppose you’d…” John began hesitantly before Sherlock interrupted him.

“It’s just that I never expected you to be one of them.” 

That seemed the shock John into at least looking towards Sherlock, which all things considered was a step in the right direction. 

“Obviously I’ve known since I was a child that reptiles, more specifically lizards, made up most of the ruling class of our society, unexplained scars that cover the lower appendages of the Queen, nominally from serving during World War 2 but obviously from fitting inside of the skin suit. Is that insulting, I don’t know the correct term but I wouldn’t want to say anything uncouth about your culture,” Sherlock stumbled over his sudden lack of cultural knowledge, even though it was pertaining to a literal alien culture, it seemed to be something John would care about, “your shoulder scar should have been an obvious clue but I did have access to your military career so it seemed to make sense.” 

John looked as though he was preparing to stop Sherlock’s monologue but that was a non option. 

“We’ve often discussed your lack of comfort with the general populous, and while it is less pronounced than mine it is still a classic sign of.. lizardness. Just take any of the many American politicians that are absolutely a member of your species. I have to say that technology has improved since Newt Gingrich and John Boehner were placed in the spotlight, you are an above averagely attractive man with piercing eyes and a latent strength that makes those around you feel safe and cared for. Much much better than the cold literally lizard eyes of those first models. And speaking of these awful creations and the Queen obviously, a less telling sign but still important is the blue eyes that you all share. Yours are much more difficult to decipher, brown at first but close up dark blue, very charming by the way although I guess they aren’t your true eyes at all so their shade is immaterial.”  
Finally John stood, suddenly in a jerky movement that Sherlock would usually attribute to his limp but now obviously a result of his tail. This abrupt movement on John’s part knocked Sherlock into a tense silence, without even thinking about it Sherlock began to fidget, lacing and unlacing his fingers as he found himself unable to look at John’s face any longer. Despite his hesitance, he couldn’t help but notice that John was slowly making his way over to Sherlock’s side of the room. 

“Sherlock, Sherlock please just shut up and let me explain,” despite the harshness of his words, John’s tone was soft, the same one he used when dealing with fragile witnesses and debilitated patients. Once John reached Sherlock’s corner of the room, he gently hand his hand on Sherlock’s shoulder, the bitter cold of John’s body causing a shiver to run down his bare spine, “Can we maybe sit? You look like you’re about to faint is all.”

Without audibly responding or acknowledging John at all, beyond the unconscious flutter when he was first touched, Sherlock moved so that he was sitting on the chair John had previously occupied. He didn’t have to look up to know that John took a seat on the side of his bed closest to Sherlock. Their knees were close enough to brush against one another but weighed down by the seriousness of the situation neither man shifted the centimeters needed to make that connection. With a deep shuddering breath John began the task of explaining himself and his lies to Sherlock. 

“My people I guess you could say, come originally from the Scorpio system that lies just outside of your telescope’s range. Yes we rule over humans, for the most part, but it’s only in benevolence. We let elections run fairly, it just happens to be that your species invariably chooses us to lead you. None of this is even remotely important right now, you knew we existed and I know that,” John’s nervousness was blatant. It amazed Sherlock that this man who was such a terrible and translucent liar had pulled the wool over his eyes about something so very basic. “I have lived on Earth and in England for my entire life. I was born here and I will die here, just like you and just like every human you’ll ever meet. Every lizard has unique placement for their scarring and mine just happened to be on my shoulder, though I did serve and did get shot there. The scarring has made it more difficult to take off the suit since being discharged, but not hugely.”

For the first time during John’s explanation Sherlock looked up and settled his gaze at a point just below John’s collarbone, not yet strong enough to look into those soulless eyes. 

“Why did you choose to live with me,” Sherlock whispered, quiet as a prayer.

“I was tasked with gaining your trust to get to Mycroft, he is the highest level human in the British government and was causing trouble for us, getting too close to too many truths. My overseer arranged for Mike to meet me that day in the park and introduce us. I was meant to do whatever it took to become a weakness for you and therefore Mycroft. When I first saw you I couldn’t believe my luck in you needing a flatmate, but I also couldn’t believe how incredibly smart you were, are, in seeing how depressed and listless I was. When you cured my limp and we laughed against that wall I realized that no problem Mycroft caused could be worth giving up color in my life. I never reported back to them and I’ve been living as honestly with you as I could.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know what you're all thinking, finally I have a thrilling conclusion to John is a lizard. What was she doing for 5 months, fair questions, I was working and starting college. I'm still sorry it took me so long! I hope you enjoy, I might do a sequel to this I'm feeling kind of inspired!

Impossible though it seemed, John could see Sherlock working to forgive his grievous lies and breaches of trust. He couldn’t believe his good luck, that this man, this wonderful man had not only not run screaming when he had seen John’s scales but had apologized for his shock and his ignorance about alien terminology when the man usually couldn’t give a rat’s ass about manners or convention. 

How could he possibly explain the absolute truth of the situation beyond the physical facts? How could he explain that in all ways but physically John was a human, born as one, raised as one and content to live as one for all his days. He hated his scales, his soulless eyes, and his tail. The only time he could force himself to take off the suit was rarely, when he feared his scales might be getting moldy. This time had been no different, it had been months since the last time his horrible form had felt fresh air and been allowed to dry. John had known that it was ill-advised and stupid, but he knew himself, and if he hadn’t just then, he wouldn’t have for months after. He couldn’t afford to be truly hurt now, even less than when he was just the average lizard person because now he was a lizard person who had abandoned his entire species for an extraordinary git of a man. 

John knew that it was now or never, he would never have this courage or this beautiful man standing in front of him putting his heart on the line again. With his heart somehow simultaneously in his throat and threatening to beat out of his chest, John reached forward and gently took Sherlock’s hand. John gave him a few moments to flinch or withdraw from this, but seeing no more horror or disgust in Sherlock’s eyes, he slowly brought their joined hands up and placed them over his heart, holding them so that his racing heart was undeniable to Sherlock, even in a state of shock. A small part of John, the one that was truly an Englishman, hoped that this could be enough. That he wouldn’t have to say the words and explain just how deeply he loved Sherlock. But the larger part of him knew that with the lies he had just been exonerated from, now was not the time for anything but absolute honesty. 

“You know that I’ve never been good with emotions, and I’ve always been absolute crap at expressing them,” John paused to duck his head, suddenly terrified of the wrecking ball he was crashing through their life together, “But you must know that I love you. God Sherlock, I abandoned my species to stay by your side, of course I love you.”

One.  
Two.  
Three.

For three horrific seconds John’s words hung suspended in the air like the fog that had poisoned their minds in Baskerville. At the exact moment John felt his heart begin to crumble like the pillars he watched fall in the desert of Afghanistan, Sherlock’s luxuriously full lips were pressed awkwardly against his. Their lips rested together for just a moment before Sherlock pulled back, breathing like he’d run a marathon. When John looked into Sherlock’s eyes, however brief that moment was, he could see how much that had cost Sherlock and how courageous that small act was. 

With no more than an instants hesitation, John flung himself against Sherlock, finally wrapping his arms around the strong chest that he had fantasized so thoroughly about. He could feel his detective shaking, just slightly but enough, and pulled Sherlock tighter against him, tucking his head underneath his chin. Without conscious thought John began to sway back and forth slowly, bringing Sherlock along with him. 

They stood like this for a few moments, breathing each other in and adjusting to the emotions that now sat heavy in the air between them. Eventually Sherlock lifted his head from what couldn’t have been a comfortable position under John’s chin and subtly wiped the corner of his eyes, trying to pretend that he was adjusting his constrictor-like grip on John. Before he could settle back into stillness John grasped his jaw and gently tipped it up so Sherlock had to meet his eyes. When John saw that slight shine and few droplets on Sherlock’s long eyelashes he couldn’t help but bring their lips together once again. This kiss was soft and gentle, just a slight pressure and the dry catching of their lips. Soon though the kisses turned from a demonstration of their devotion to something much more carnal. Dry turned wet, soft turned ever so slowly harder and light presses turned to nips along Sherlock’s plump lower lip. 

In John’s rational mind he knew that this wasn't the proper order for them to go, they should sit down and talk more, John should explain the lengths he went to to protect Sherlock and the very moment he knew that he’d never be able to betray this man, but in the much louder lizard part of his brain all he could think of was his desire to show Sherlock how very loved and how treasured he was. 

When John came back to himself, he realized that his hands had undertaken voyages without his conscious consent, one was slipping up Sherlock’s chest while the other took its time making its way to grip the firm one of the firm globes of his arse. John could practically feel Sherlock vibrating against him and firmly pulled them down onto John’s hereto forgotten bed. With his hands slipping easily under Sherlock’s pants, John suddenly felt far over dressed for the situation. He pulled back, quickly divesting himself of his jumper, button up and trousers, leaving Sherlock and him on equal footing. With that out of the way John finally took a moment to stare down at the prize laid out below him.

Eyes blown wide, lips cherry red from attention, the shirt that had rested on his shoulders long gone, and an bulge trying valiantly to break free of its confines, Sherlock made the most beautiful picture John had ever seen. 

“Oh Sherlock, you gorgeous man,” John breathed without truly realizing it, “ You sexy, brilliant man, how can I ever show you what you do to me.” 

Sherlock groaned, low and loud, as John ran his hands up his thighs to the waistband of Sherlock’s pants. He tried to articulate what he had planned, the meticulous diagrams that lay on his bedside table, but all that came out when he spoke was,  
“John, yes.”

He slowly pulled the pants down, revealing Sherlock’s perfect cock, small, slender, and beautifully pink, nestled in a nest of unruly dark hair. John couldn’t help himself then and bent down to slowly lick at the tip of Sherlock’s cock, swirling his tongue around slowly and cleaning it of the precome that had been collecting there during the excitement. After a few moments, when Sherlock’s moans had begun to turn from low gasps to high whimpers, John raised his head from Sherlock’s cock and pulled off his own pants as quickly as possible. 

Once freed it was Sherlock’s turn to gape as John’s cock stood thick, full and so erect it looked painful. Without more than a few pumps into his own fist to spread the precome down his length, John slotted the two of them side by side and began to thrust, causing them both to see stars from the gorgeous slippery friction against their oversensitive flesh. Sherlock gained confidence after a few moments of ecstatic thrusting and swiftly wrapped his own large hand around their two lengths, slowly matching his own strokes to that of John’s thrusts. Looking down the two of them so intimately joined, Sherlock suddenly felt much closer to the edge than he had even a few seconds earlier. He quickly looked up into John’s half lidded eyes and in the final moments before his release overtook him, he managed to shout what he hoped the doctor could recognize as “I love you.” With that his entire world shrunk down to only the points of contact between him and his doctor, he saw a bright light and felt his mind rebooting in the most wonderful way.

When he came back online it was to vague memories of John’s own release mingling with his in the seconds after he came. Focusing outside the memories that he would file and store later in his mind palace, he could feel John wiping the remains of their orgasms off of Sherlock’s stomach with what felt like John’s own button up. After completing, this John laid himself down next to Sherlock and appeared to settle in for a long night being the big spoon for Sherlock. 

Both John and Sherlock knew that tomorrow would bring discussions and emotions and huge changes to life as they knew it, but despite that, despite John’s scales and Sherlock’s toes in the crisper, they would make it work, just as they always had before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it and I'm sorry that Sherlock didn't fuck an actual lizard, I couldn't do it, lizards can't give consent and I'm not about that mess.


End file.
